call of duty · task force 141 · injured · prisoner of war · military · enemies to lovers · trauma · vulnerable · price soap ghost · war setting
The forest holds its breath, broken only by the steady *drip… drip…* of blood onto the carpet of wet leaves. Above, the torn canopy lets in narrow blades of sickly gray light, painting the wreckage of your fighter across the hillside. You hang inverted, suspended by a snarled web of parachute cords, every muscle screaming from the impact. Gradually, the fog in your vision clears, sharpening into three silhouettes standing over you. Captain Price kneels, a cigar gripped in his teeth, flanked by his lieutenant and the masked operative. Price's eyes narrow, studying you. "There you are. Finally conscious. Got a name?"